Thought I'd share. This one is not un-personal and I wrote it, well, this morning. It's untitled. I've got lots more shorts, but not saved to this computer. I'll try to post more with time. Hope you enjoy! My mind wanders from the sensible green honda with the "BITE ME" bumper sticker that contains my life as I know it. A glance at the rearview mirror shows a reflection of boxes, piled high in the backseat. I think of my favorite scarf, all purples and blues and hanging on a hook on a door of a closet I will never see again. Damn. My blinker keeps rhythm with the song on the radio, some pop-punk song by a band I've never heard of, and a shrill beep from the friendly driver behind me reminds me that green means GO. I turn off of Lover's Lane onto the interstate and merge, baby, merge like there's no tomorrow. My eyes are blurry and swollen midnight-breakup-vodka-tonic-hangover-style and they hurt. I think one of them is starting to darken already. I blink furiously to fend off the tears that are threatening to make an appearance. Fuck crying. I'm done crying. An asshole in a hummer cuts me off, and I don't have the energy (or give a crap enough) to even flip him off. I feel sick, but can't stop driving. Driving means leaving, and leaving is non-negotiable. Stopping to puke in a gas station bathroom might remind me how bitterly cold the wind is today, which might give me ideas about going to rescue the scarf, which for all purposes needs to be sacrificed for the well being of my soul and my non-blackened eye. Stopping is not a good idea. Puking will have to wait. My gas tank is blissfully full, having been filled the night before when I went out to buy him cigarettes. When he finally passed out, I packed. The sun's up now, but he won't be for hours. I haven't slept for days, it seems, but sleeping is on the list of non-options right beside puking. Eating is also on the list for now, at least until I've driven through the state line. I've got about three hours to go, but I'm fine with that as my stomach has other things besides food on its mind. I turn the radio up, loud, and scan for a decent non-shitty station. This might take a while. Hunger pains hit almost the instant I cross over the Louisiana border. I pull off at a gas station and head for the bathroom. My reflection catches me as I pass by the mirror, and I stop. My eye is indeed swollen and dark, and as I inspect the rest of me I discover a few bruises on my upper arms as well. I consider makeup, then remember it's packed. Fuck. I pee, dry heave for a few minutes, then I wash my hands and walk out to pay for half a tank of gas, a travel-sized bottle of aspirin, two Mountain Dews, a pack of gum, and two packages of chocolate donuts. The girl who takes my cash stares, and I don't care as much as I used to. As I merge back onto the interstate, I open a package of donuts and a bottle of soda, and I force myself to smile for the first time in weeks. Onward and upward from here. Yeah.
I think you have the makings of a country singer, nothing original there of course, but still touching all of the bases like in "Sunday morning coming down" by Kristofferson. Probably by the time I write this your narrator will have met a hero of the male variety who will rescue her from most of her problems. Then again, maybe not. If we want to consider the piece as a completed short story, there's the obvious problem that it leaves the reader hanging, not knowing how things are going to turn out. The author might like this, but the average reader won't. The average reader will want the problem resolved, probably in a boy meets girl scenario, with the rescued female riding off into the sunset with her hero as in most paperback romances. Of course, life's not like that, but we're talking fiction here, or are we?
Actually, it's mostly non-fiction. This is a complete short story. The ending shouldn't be finding a knight in shining armor.. the "damsel" in the story has rescued herself and doesn't need a knight. Make sense? May leave some hanging, but it's not meant for publication. Just stretching my writing fingers, as they've been inactive for a while. Thanks for the tips, though! ETA: I guess if it were to be a complete work, it would still be in progress. From here the girl moves out of state, goes to work as an exotic dancer and attends community college for a bit, then moves back to Texas, works lots of waitressing jobs, and eventually meets and marries an older man with two kids. So things work out, but the story isn't very dramatic. 'S why I didn't put it all onto 'paper', so to speak.
I wouldn't put much of my life on paper. It wouldn't even make a good tear jerker. But, it might get a few laughs.
I wouldn't, either. My life is mainly boring. There are certain moments, though, that have short story potential.. I guess personal shorts like that are sort of cheating. I didn't have to create the story or subject matter, just illustrate. I haven't written a short story in years, so maybe it's not too horrible for a practice short? I've written a few poems out of boredom but those don't challenge me. I appreciate your comments.. and thanks for reading.
Hey, I like it! It's simple and descriptive, and it put me THERE, getting the reality across. And, I like the way it ends -- not all stories should end with, "And they lived happily ever after!" Not all stories should BE fairy tales. As far as I'm concerned, writing for YOURSELF is the number one concern. There is ALWAYS an audience. However, if you view writing as a job title, and cash is your purpose for fingering the keyboard, instead of an expression of your unique inspiration, then formula writing IS the way to go. Cash IS nice! But, I hate paint by the numbers writing.
